


'it's nothing'

by reversemagician (himaAlaya)



Series: nandemonaiya [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himaAlaya/pseuds/reversemagician
Summary: Sometimes when he woke up there would be dried petals on his pillow, and some wet ones as well.Every morning he’d clean them up. Sweeping them away into the small trash can by his desk. Wilted flowers would stare back at him every morning when he would introduce them to fresh ones. At this rate, he might actually die.





	'it's nothing'

**Author's Note:**

> is this literally named after a song? [listen and be sad to find out.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPwCtsLhYto)

It was beginning to become impossible to even go to mementos. There was always another request, another job to do. It never ended. People always needed help and they were supposed to be the ones to help them. Akira could barely help himself anymore. He would stare at his phone, checking off names that he needed to remember so he could track them down in mementos. Every time he opened up a conversation with Mishima he’d begin to cough, wet petals littering his desk and floor. 

He couldn’t just stop helping people. Not when so many needed it. He wished in some backwards way someone could steal his feelings for Mishima, then maybe he could get some peace of mind or even be able to breathe without being in so much pain. Morgana never said anything, only watching him. He never stopped him from going to mementos, or from being reckless, or anything really. Yes he still told him to go to bed, but with an increasing softness in his voice.

Sometimes when he woke up there would be dried petals on his pillow, and some wet ones as well. 

Every morning he’d clean them up. Sweeping them away into the small trash can by his desk. Wilted flowers would stare back at him every morning when he would introduce them to fresh ones. At this rate, he might actually die.

He wouldn’t give up on his feelings. He would either be cured or die trying. 

His friends kept pushing him to see a doctor, offering pamphlets on the surgery that could remove the flowers. Ryuji especially seemed concerned, walking him home after school after a particularly bad coughing fit. Akira had to lean against him all the way home. Ryuji never said anything, offering his silent support figuratively and literally.

The two of them had barely made it to LeBlanc when Ryuji finally said something.

“You really need t’do something about this.” He eased Akira off of him, and opened the door. The bell chimed but neither of them moved.

“I’ll be fine.” He tried to snap, sharply inhaling. It had the opposite effect of being intimidating. Instead he hunched over, grabbing at the doorframe to keep himself steady. His nails dug into the wood, splintering some of it as it dug into his skin. “It’s nothing. It’s…. It’s really nothing I promise.” 

“The hell it’s nothing!” Ryuji grabbed his arms, gently bringing him back up. “Look, we’re not blind y’know.”

Akira doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even know what to say. He thought that he could get away with saying nothing. Obviously that wasn’t the case. Everyone could see it, everyone except the one person he really needed to notice. His face felt wet, he could feel his glasses slipping from his nose and he could see the tears on the ground. He took a shuddering breath, wincing and leaning into Ryuji as he did. “I’m sorry.” Akira said softly, wiping his eyes and skewing his glasses. “I’m so sorry.” 


End file.
